Reforged
by Darth Ducttape
Summary: Aragorn's thoughts while on the Corsair ship.


A/N: Just a time filler I came up with after watching _Fellowship_ with my sister one night. Anyway, hope you enjoy it! And I'm not Tolkien. As far as I know, he died a few years ago. ;) So please don't sue me.

BTW, thanks, Atarlasse for beta-ing this.

R&R!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time- in between the hijacking of the corsair ships and arriving at the battle of the Pelennor Fields: the three hunters and the army of the dead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aragorn leaned against the Corsair's deck railing and drew a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for the battle. So much killing, fear, pain and anger on the battlefield, and always the shadow of death hanging near. He was skilled with the sword, and the bow, yes, but battles were not something he looked forward to. Killing was not a pastime he enjoyed. Killing men, that is. Orcs were no problem, but there were men waiting at Gondor. Southerners had been moving to Mordor for some time now, and he would kill them -for that was the task given him- but he would not enjoy nor look forward to it.

A walking dead materialized over the waters directly in front of him. "Two leagues to the White Tower, my Lord. Blood covers the plains like a fell blanket." The words floated out of his mouth on a deathly sigh, moving like the chill winter breezes through the barren trees of Mirkwood. Aragorn nodded grimly and dismissed the dead one.

The White City… his mind wandered back the few weeks – or had it been years? – To the night when Boromir and he had sat together in the elven tree-city of Lothlorien, the elves' mourning for Gandalf carried on the wind….

_"Have you seen it, Aragorn?" Boromir's eyes shone, his proud voice fading to reveal the elves' lament. "The White City," he continued, "And above it, rising high into the heavens, the Tower of Ecthelion. One day, our paths shall take us there, and the gate keepers shall cry, 'Hail! For the Lords of Gondor have returned!'"_

Aragorn remembered that night, waiting, resting, mourning among the trees, surrounded by the cool darkness and the gentle, twinkling lights. Resting on a stone bench, bare feet surrounded by the lush grass, Boromir had asked the impossible, requesting that he travel to Gondor with him and take the throne. But now… now it was different. He had accepted the sword, wielded the sword re-forged, and thus committed himself. He could have said no, he could have refused the sword, remained Strider the Ranger, and hoped for the best at the Pelennor charge, even though he knew it was hopeless. But instead he had taken the sword, taken the power and used it to command those who are dead.

His mind flashed to another time, after battling with the Uruk-hai at Amon Hen, as he leaned over Boromir, his kinsman pierced in the chest thrice...

_Clasping Boromir's weakening hand, Aragorn promised, "I will not see the White City fall, nor our people fail."_

_"Our people?" Even so close to death, even as Lurtz's arrows drained the life from him, Boromir's voice remained steady._

_"Our People."_

_Boromir grasped his sword one last time, and clutching it to his chest, passed from life._

The Dead king stepped to his side, the icy restlessness of the black void surrounding this creature returning him to the present. "Orders, my Liege?"

They rounded a final bend, grey rock giving way to brilliant white towers, the vast brown plains of the Pelennor, and the black mass that swarmed over it.

"Wait for my signal. Then free the city of the sickness crawling to its heart."

"As you wish…" His presence was replaced by a warm, living hand on his shoulder. Legolas, a deadly smile on his tranquil face stood there, gazing out over the churning water at the besieged city.

"Well then, Lad," Gimli stood to his left, leaning on his axe against the rocking of the ship, helmet firmly in place. "Let's get to it."

The King drew Anduril. His people would not fail.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Review, if you have a mind to...)


End file.
